


Go Without ('Til The Need Seeps In)

by callmedok



Category: Brütal Legend, Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort, Comfort No Hurt, Corsetry, Established Relationship, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Routine, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 13:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17643380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmedok/pseuds/callmedok
Summary: Sasha finds himself oddly intrigued by corsets, and finds out first-hand how strangely calming they can be. Then Eddie enters his life, and, well.It takes some time before a new routine develops from the old one.





	Go Without ('Til The Need Seeps In)

**Author's Note:**

> Sonicsora showed me some corset videos a while back and, because I was still knee-deep in the 1960s AU at the time, I went 'lmao but what if Sasha.'  
> ...Then I did some research, sat down, and wrote a thing. Which is finally done.
> 
> So. Here y'all go, I guess. Sasha poking at an idea to see how it works, and stumbling onto something he likes because life is like that sometimes. Rated T because of some referenced shenanigans at the end.  
> Title comes from Sleeping Lessons by The Shins.

Honestly, it started because of an off-handed comment.

“I don’t understand how you can wear those things and not injure yourself,” He’d commented, once they were away from the dress party that had required Milla to wear the fancy corset in the first place, and all she had done was smile in return. Replied casually after using a flicker of telekinesis to undo the zipper of her dress, “Practice, darling, all a matter of practice.” And it’d been nothing special, just black and red with a bit of lace underneath a dark red dress that edged into period piece territory, but something about it was…

Striking, and pleasing to the eye.

Made him wonder, for a brief second, what it would look like, feel like even, on him. Call it a flash of fantasy, a moment of indulgence, but it was that flicker of initial interest that led him to pause a few months later when he was looking for something else. Run a gloved finger down the curve of a seam, rub at a bit of lace near the top, and wonder how different something would feel against his skin.

He’s always been rather straightforward and practical when it came to his own clothing, and there’s just… something, about the thought of wearing something for pure aesthetic alone. Not to play a part, or as something titillating, just for sheer self-indulgence alone, and it’s strange and new and interesting. Something he can’t explain, except that it’s been lingering in the back of his mind since the last disguise mission.

Why he ends up eventually buying one is as big of a mystery to himself, as it would be to anyone else. One of those times where he’s wandering online while trying to get to sleep, and in a haze it sounded like a good idea to take some measurements and do some research. All of it in good fun, of course, and something to maybe laugh about later when he wasn’t dead on his feet.

At least his sleep deprived self held some sense of restraint though, so rather than some flashy brocade thing which caught the eye, he ended up with something simple and neat. Plain navy silk, a straight under-bust that would suit his frame, and black ribbon for the lacing up the back. Nothing too extravagant or tricky for someone to wear in, just…

Different.

The first time he wears it, it’s a month later when he has an enforced day off. No chance whatsoever of being called in, no injuries that prevent him from strenuous activity, no one he absolutely needs to see. Just a day to be, which usually meant catching up on paperwork or trying not to be annoyed that he was barred from doing the one thing he was good at.

Today’s the first day he can even bring himself to remove it from the box, and lay it out on his bed. Run his bare hands over the fabric, no prior emotional entanglement rasping against his mind, just his fingers practically slipping over every bump of steel boning, sliding along the stitches of a seam. Irrationally the comparison of a hot knife through butter, the sharp glide of levitation smoothing over terrain comes to mind, and he can’t shake either of them away.

Can’t help but find it strangely amusing that, no matter what, he was always drawn to shades of blue when left to his own devices.

Carefully, as if it will fall apart at even the slightest jostle, he lifts it up and takes it to the bathroom. If he was going to do this then he’d be doing it _right,_ putting those hours of research to good use. Laces at his back, silver clasps at his front, and with using the mirror to his advantage and a bit of telekinesis…

His first impression, as he presses a hand to the silk over his stomach, is that it clings _._ None of the breathless gasping that media seemed to adore, none of the pain, but maybe it’s because he went the easy way out. Just tightened the laces enough, inch by inch, so there was the slightest curve, an amount of pressure similar to being embraced.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, only to sigh. Runs a hand down his side, and a small part of him shivers at the feeling. This is… this is nice, oddly calming even as it’s engaging on a tactile level.

Maybe he’ll keep it.

*

Three months later he’s bought another corset out of sheer indulgence, and ended up with a routine of all things.

On the days where he feels tired, even… scrambled for lack of a better word, no injuries in sight, he’ll wave off offers of drinks and slip away to the safety and comfort of his apartment. Take a nice long shower close to the point of uncomfortably hot, so by the end he’s loose limbed and slightly drowsy from the warmth. Laze on the couch for a bit, watching the world outside continue on without him, until he finally made the call for take-out.

And once he’d managed to shake the last few weeks from his shoulders, felt like he lived in his own skin again, he pulled on the corset and didn’t do much of anything.

Caught up on whatever book he’d left on his side table, flipped through the latest scientific journal that had his eye. Put on an old record that carried nostalgia in its grooves, a hazy not-his memory finally stilling, staying in one place long enough to treasure it. Anything he did was languid and easy, spared barely any thought because times like this were for him to relax and breathe.

Then Eddie enters his life, and… well.

That meant adjusting things to a certain degree.

He doesn’t end up wearing either corset for a month, two months. Not when there’s someone feeling him up, kisses that leave his mind buzzing with lyrics he can’t figure out, and it’s been long enough he isn’t quite sure how to bring up something like this anymore. Shame isn’t even a factor here, nor denial, it’s just the question of _how_ with no easy answer that has words dying on his tongue. Relaxation nights turn into date nights, time spent with Eddie leaving him at ease but never quite fully relaxed.

But eventually, it reaches that point again where he’s fraying around the edges. Needs some time to himself where he doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to worry. He slips back into routine with barely a thought on a day he returns from a mission in one piece, shooting off a text to Eddie without thought that he’s back and can finally talk again.

Lazy shower, check. Drying off and slipping into his softest robe, check. And when it comes to ordering take-out or tugging on the corset… well, he mixes those up a bit, because he needs something to hold him together more than he needs to order food, at the moment.

And hears a flicker of _warmthmusiclove_ when he reaches out mentally on a whim, freezing with his hand at the doorknob.

Eddie.

Eddie who has a key for ‘just in case’ moments, who’s a man with a large heart and knows Sasha usually does take-out when he’s back from a long stint at work. Would probably bring something over himself, because two weeks of this pain in the ass mission _-_

His hand is shaking slightly, and his mouth thins out into a grim line when he sees it. No, this is his life, and he won’t live like this. This is just a part of him, something he does now and then. It makes him feel more put together, like his rib-cage won’t cave in after feeling like he could explode from everything rushing through his veins, and if Eddie is uncomfortable with it, then to hell with it all.

Instead of tugging on a shirt over the charcoal-colored corset, tugging on sweatpants over his boxers, he just knots the tie on his bathrobe a little tighter, and opens the door.

*

Eddie is… gentle, running a hand down his ribs, over the silky fabric.

He made a surprised noise at first glance, called both it and Sasha a pretty work of art with a grin that made Sasha’s heart flutter after the second one, and proceeded to serve him some hot homemade meal that he practically inhaled. Hot fast food was entire leagues away from a warm homemade one, and it felt almost like a tangible expression of love. It’s afterwards where the gentleness comes in, and he wants to cling to it with everything he has.

Sitting lazily in Eddie’s lap on the couch, with those large lovely hands running over the corset, his thoughts start drifting in a way that he’s…missed, to be honest. Eddie is still complimenting him, calling him babe almost every third sentence, but he’s also just talking about whatever comes to mind. Makes it feel so normal in that easy way the roadie always manages to pull off, and the occasional kiss doesn’t hurt either.

The brush of stubble against his neck practically sends _ripples_ through his thoughts though, a soft noise leaving his mouth before he can help it. A murmur against his skin of “God, you’re fucking handsome,” leaves him biting his lip because where does he even start with a compliment like that, only to exhale a bit shakily as Eddie runs a hand down his ribs again. Rests it right over his hip where the boxers don’t quite meet with the bottom of the corset, and there’s that ripple again, a slow roll of arousal mixing with comfort like water and ink.

It’s just a loose lazy sprawl of emotion, mostly his with a dash of Eddie’s, and he actually moans as Eddie bites his neck, starts leaving the first love bite of many along the curve of it.

(Combining both ways he can relax and not think about much has gone surprisingly well, and he wouldn’t change a thing.)


End file.
